The Picture of Dorian Gray
by Chandniwrc
Summary: Neal gets kidnaped and Peter have ninety minutes to save him. Will Peter save him in time? CLOSED AND UNCOMPLETED.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: It's my first White Collar fanfic. I wrote it for polish Fikaton on livejournal - it's for day 5. **  
**But since I began watching WC, I always wanted write a story. I hope you enjoy!**  
**Love, Chandni :***  
**Disclaimer: I don't own White Collar or the characters, just having some fun with them.**

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**The Picture of Dorian Gray**

The phone woke him up from blissful sleep. He looked at the clock and moaned quietly, but then he answered intrusively ringing phone. At five forty am!  
"Burke" he answered with voice still full of sleep, and now also irritated. However, he didn't expect such words so early in the morning.  
"There is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book. Books are well written or badly written. That is all." He heard masculine, but clearly modified with special device, voice.  
"If this is a joke..."  
"The clock is ticking, agent Burke, and your loyal friend has no more than ninety minutes of life left. I suggest you hurry up." With those words the man hung up.

Peter jumped out of his bed and, while making many phone calls, tried to get clothed, nervously  
pulling on various elements of attire, not letting off of his phone for even a moment.  
But where he was to start his search? He knew they won't be able to trace his last phone call, because the man seemed to smart to be caught like that.  
Neal wasn't answering his phone. Mozzie confirmed that their mutual friend didn't come home last night, what was strange, because they were supposed to meet about that damned music box.  
Good thing that Elizabeth has to leave town and was far from all this commotion, although her presence would certainly helped him. She was always able to find good solution, what sometimes made him wonder, who really should be federal agent.  
Peter quickly dialled Jones' number, to make him check Neal location.  
"GPS tracker says he's in Brooklyn-Queens metro station" passed on the agent.  
"I'll pick you up from the office" ordered Burke and disconnected.

* * *

Neal regained consciousness in big, but empty room. He was sitting in a chair. His whole body was wrapped in foil and his mouth were gagged. Such situations began to be unhealthy routine to him.  
He didn't manage to fully get his bearings, when suddenly somebody punched him in face, and then he felt next, less surprising, but no less painful, blows. Short break didn't allow him to fully recover from shock. He never liked physical violence, and particularly in relation to bound and temporarily totally defenseless people. Before he could think of any defense, before his eyes flashed a baseball bat in the hands of a bulky man.

* * *

With a screech of tires he stopped the car before entering the subway and jumped, not even slamming the door behind him. Jones ran behind him. They ran down moving stairway and immediately recognized the place they were looking for, and from where came the GPS signal - a bookshop. But what the hell Neal did there and why didn't he answer his stupid phone?  
With the "FBI" on their lips they burst into a shop, but they didn't find Caffrey there. On the shelf they found Neal's tracing bracelet, which somebody had to open with its special key and left here. Next to bracelet was book "The Picture of Dorian Gray".  
Peter nervously grabbed it and began to browse. Someone apparently left them a hint.  
Something was wrong - Peter had a hunch, but they didn't have the time.  
"A book?" Jones said surprised, watching carefully his Boss.  
"You remember the Dutch case?" Peter carefully checked the book and smiled slightly - he was right. Extra card was added to the book's cover. He asked the shop assistant for paper knife and ripped the pages. Inside they saw a card with typewritten address.  
He glanced at his watch - they should make it.  
So, they got back to the car and drove to the outskirts of the city.

* * *

Neal sat with his head limply bowed. He would seem to be asleep. His matted black hair obscured his bloodied face, and because of a gag and foil he could hardly breathe. His whole body was one big bruise, and he had the impression that if someone cut up the foil now, he would scatter in pieces.  
Something, somewhere, was quietly moaning and after a while Caffrey realized that he was making these sounds.  
What these people really want? - Because even though he saw only the brawn, he is guessed that someone has to be the brain. For forty minutes there was nothing but whacking. Not a single question from his tormentors.  
The masked man approached again limp, bound Caffrey, this time with something strange in his hand. He crouched down before Neal and slapped him in cheek with hand wearing latex glove, as if trying to wake him up. Neal opened non swollen eye and looked confusedly at guard, who was now doing something with a device on the nearby table.  
Caffrey tried to see what was happening, although it was hard to concentrate because of pain that pierced his body.  
Something flashed and beeped.  
Neal knew that he recognized this sound. He looked again and focused his eyes on the red little letters... no... no letters... numbers?  
Numbers, clock, device, clock going backwards?  
Countdown...  
Neal was terrified. Image blurred in his eyes, but before he lost consciousness he was able to read - thirty minutes.

They stopped the car a short distance from the old building and got out. Moments later they saw an explosion.  
"Neal!" Peter yelled, running toward the burning building.  
Peter rubbed his face with his hand and looked sadly at Jones. They were too late.

The Fire Service has just finished extinguishing fire in the ruins, while Burke was wandering nervously, watching the terrain. He could not get rid of that irritating feeling that they forgotten about something, missed something. He felt like a puppet in a bad puppet show. And above all why they couldn't find Caffrey's body? After all, it should be here somewhere, and firefighters found nothing, although they carefully searched the entire area of ruins.  
"Jones, remind me what is "Portrait of Dorian Gray" about?" he asked, stopping in front of his agent. Right now Neal strangely reminded him of Dorian - he was a young, handsome man, creating works of art.  
"If I remember correctly, it was story about a young man, who never grows old, because of the portrait. I think it was hidden in an attic, or I'm mixing it up" Jones replied uncertainly.  
"Attic, you say" pondered Burke. "Attic... Attic... ATTIC!"  
"Boss?"  
"We're going to Caffrey's house!" he commanded, running to the car.

* * *

They were already on the stairs leading to the apartment Caffrey rented, when Peter's cell rang.  
"Burke" he growled into the phone.  
"I'll go straight to the point, Boss" they heard Diana's voice in the phone. "Someone took the music box, and I have just got information from local PD, they found the body of dead Fowler. They played with us, to divert our attention from what they really intended to do. Neal was just their bait. They used us as puppets in their performance, we played like they wanted to" she said bitterly.  
"Goddamn it!" Peter growled, disconnecting, and entered Neal's apartment.  
"Neal" he whispered, seeing a young, tortured man, lying on the floor in blood. With his heart pounding and his throat constricted, he and Jones uneasy came closer.  
Peter crouched and shook his head sadly, seeing slightly open blue eyes.  
"It's probably the end" Jones said, putting one hand on Peter's shoulder and with other holding the phone.  
"I need an ambulance..."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Big thanks for everyone who comment and put this story in alert! This is for you guys! So I'm back with this story but please read carefully and don't kill me - well, not YET! And ****anticipating your questions it's not last chapter :) But next will be after New Year so I wish you all happy holidays!**  
**Enjoy ;)**  
**Love, Chandni**  
**Disclaimer: I don't own White Collar or the characters, just having some fun with them.**  
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**Antoine de Saint-Exupéry**

When he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was thick white fog surrounding him on all sides. Horrible cold painfully stabbed in every part of his body like a frozen needles. He could feel the heat escaping from him, as his warm breath blow around into his face, then turned into an icy blast, imbued with flecks of ice.

He stretched out his hand uncertainly ahead and took a step, unsure whether he has stable ground under him. He moved slowly at first and quietly and then started to run, ignoring the piercing cold attacking his throat and lungs.

He could feel his heart pounding heavily in his chest. He turned around.  
Nothing but whiteness.  
He made a step forward and suddenly lost his balance.  
He began to fall.  
He screamed . . . screamed . . . screamed from entire lungs, as never before in his life.  
Finally, he hit the hard ground with enormous power.  
Darkness and cold surrounded him everywhere. He lay motionless, with no sign of life, and his blood flowed out of his mouth. Suddenly, an immense pain pierced his flesh and viscera.

The first gulp of air and the awareness of life hurt immensely. Closed eyelids slowly and carefully, with great reluctance, opened. Misty eyes stared into the void. He tried to say something, to scream, but only moved his lips. Everywhere was heard the beating of his heart, which seemed to struggle in his chest like a young bird trapped in a cage. Bright lights illuminated the place, in which he was located, and in the corner of his eye Neal saw with horror that he wasn't alone on the floor.

Near him lay bloodied body.  
"It's your fault, Neal," he heard Kate's familiar voice.  
"Your," repeated the echo Mozzie.  
"Your fault," came to him voices of Peter and Elizabeth. "Because of you we all died."

No, no, no . . .  
That's not true . . . can't be!

Suddenly a strange sound came to him.  
The light dimmed, so that now only a thin stream illuminated motionless Caffrey's body.  
Something was coming inexorably and Neal struggled helplessly, unable to get up and escape. Several large spiders covered his body, driving its legs under his skin.  
Neal gave only a silent scream. . .

* * *

In the room there was a sudden and shrill beeping when Neal woke up in horror, rising up nearly out of bed to a sitting position and desperately trying to pull a needle from an IV pole and a plastic tube stuck into his nose, that was delivering oxygen.  
"Neal, Neal . . . everything's OK . . . hey . . . relax," Peter tried to calm him to no avail.

"Please, hold him down" quickly said a nurse injecting a sedative to drip.  
Peter hugged Caffrey as delicately as he could, and when he felt the young man relaxes under the influence of the drug, carefully arranged him back on the bed.

* * *

Peter was becoming increasingly furious with this situation.  
He hated when he had his hands tied. They tried to figure out who kidnapped Neal, killed Fowler and took the music box, but in vain. It was like finding a needle in a haystack. Once they found a clue, they always came to the impasse. These people were very good and had connections at the top. All evidence, all the witnesses suddenly disappeared.  
Someone demolished Diana's apartment, painted on the wall: "This was one of those nights where there is no hope for the dawn." Quote from Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. Were they suggesting something?

Trashed room and the inscription could only mean one thing - they were to leave this case.  
But that wasn't the end.  
Someone tried to frighten Elizabeth and June. Someone almost smashed Jones, when he was crossing the road, while he was speaking with Peter over the phone.  
Who the hell were those people?

* * *

"I searched entire Neal's apartment and guess what I discovered, my dear suit friend?" Mozzie began mysteriously, as they talked in one of mysterious places, reminiscent of old plant. When they entered the roof Peter saw perfectly neat garden.  
"Impress me" snapped nervously Burke, sitting on a wooden bench.  
"Our enemies could take the music box, but they won't open it without it," Mozzie pulled from his jacket pocket a golden part of the music box that was the key. Peter looked at him amazed, but not entirely surprised. After as long as he have worked with Neal and Mozzie, he could expect anything from them.

"You know that they will be looking for it?" He said, knowing that Mozzie will hide it somewhere safe. But he had to remember the fact that they were playing with dangerous opponent, who had his people everywhere, and they already got Mozzie once.  
"Be careful," he said, although he knew very well that he didn't need to.  
"Keep an eye on our friend," replied Mozzie. "They may have music box and records, but they don't have me, Neal and Suits" he threw out, walking away.

* * *

"What do we do, sir?" Jones asked as the three of them met at the office. This whole situation was slightly bigger than them. It would appear that their opponent is always one step ahead of them and is blocking their every single move.  
"For now, nothing. We guard Neal in the hospital and we pretend that we left the case of the music box. Let it calm down. We'll look and see if our opponents don't do any unfortunate for them moves," he decreed sharply, seeing tired faces of his friends.  
"Keep your eyes wide open," he commanded sternly.

* * *

When he entered the dark hospital room he found Caffrey conscious, propped high on the pillows, with his glassy eyes fixed on the large, dark window.  
"Neal, finally our prince woke up," Peter tried to keep loose and light mood between them. He walked closer and looked carefully at his friend, who seemed not at all respond to the presence of the agent. "Neal?" Burke touched Caffrey's arm, who looked at him as if first time seeing him.  
"Hey," he whispered. "Didn't notice you coming in, you said something?"  
"How do you feel?" Peter asked, sitting on a chair beside the bed.  
"There were better times. You don't have anything, right?" Neal looked away.  
"No, but I don't give up. We have a backup plan," Burke assured him. He didn't want Caffrey to worry. The only thing he should focus was getting back to health as soon as possible.  
He didn't expect Caffrey's reaction, who grabbed his hand and looked, scared, straight into his eyes.  
"No, please, Peter!"

"Neal . . . " Peter knew that Neal isn't now able to think rationally under the influence of all those drugs and antibiotics, that he is wounded and in shock. But then Peter . . .  
"Promise you'll drop any further investigations," in Neal eyes was fever and fear. He began to tremble all over the body. "Please . . . I don't want anything bad happening to you because of me."  
"Hey, we'll be all right," he assured. He lied in good faith, seeing in what condition Caffrey was. At this time, Neal didn't need to know.  
Then the nurse came into the room.  
"Hello, gentlemen," she greeted them pleasantly and went to check out all the machinery that surrounded the patient. On a tray, which she kept in her hand, she had a syringe.  
"Time for antibiotics," she explained, seeing Peter's uncertain face. She made an injection and went out leaving them alone.

Peter wanted to ask Neal something, when he suddenly clutched his hand tighter and squeezed his eyes in pain.  
"Neal!"Burke sprang from his chair and picked up the button to summon help.  
"It hurts," Neal whispered with despair in his voice, not being able to draw air into lungs and tears flowed down his cheeks.

Peter stood by the door watching helplessly as team of doctors is fighting for Neal's life.  
He knew that for good of his friend he must make a very drastic decision. So when the doctor turned to him, Peter only nodded his head in sign of assent.  
Machine utter a shrill, flat sound and on the monitor labeled as green, solid line.

Neal Caffrey died on 20 October at 17:45...


End file.
